mute

chapter 27

Chapter: The First Step

Billie lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, her world reduced to the confines of her room. The silence was heavy, not just because she hadn’t spoken in months, but because she couldn’t. Billie was mute, and had been for as long as she could remember, relying on sign language to communicate with her family and those closest to her. But now, even that seemed distant. Her hands rarely moved, her body weighed down by a crushing depression that had consumed her since the day she learned she could never dance again.

Her parents, Maggie and Patrick, had given her time, hoping that she would eventually emerge from her self-imposed isolation. They were patient, waiting for some sign that she was ready to return to the world, but weeks had passed, and Billie had barely left her bed. She didn't speak, didn't sign, and barely ate. Even her tics, once an ever-present part of her life, had quieted down, as though they too were tired from the weight of her grief.

One morning, her parents stood at the door of her room, concern etched deeply into their faces. They knew something had to change.

Maggie took a step forward, her voice soft but firm. “Billie, we need to talk.”

Billie didn’t respond. Her eyes shifted, but her hands remained still. She hadn’t signed in days, maybe even weeks.

Her father, Patrick, sighed. “We’ve arranged for you to see someone. A therapist. You can communicate with them through sign language if you’re ready.”

Billie’s head twitched slightly, a small tic that had been with her since childhood. She remained silent, but her fingers finally began to move, sluggishly forming the words, I don’t want to go.

Maggie knelt beside her, her eyes filled with sadness. “I know you don’t, sweetheart. But we can’t keep watching you suffer like this. You haven’t left your room in months. We need to try something.”

Billie hesitated, her hand twitching as another tic escaped, her fingers jerking before she signed, What if it doesn’t help?

Patrick gently placed a hand on her arm. “Then we try something else. But we can’t give up. You’re not alone in this, Billie.”

With a heavy sigh, Billie reluctantly nodded. The idea of leaving her room, let alone the house, filled her with dread, but deep down, she knew she couldn’t keep hiding. Her fingers flicked again, another small tic, as she signed, Okay.

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The drive to the therapist’s office felt surreal. Billie sat in the back seat, her ear defenders firmly over her ears, trying to block out the overwhelming noise of the outside world. She hadn’t been out of the house in so long that even the sound of traffic made her heart race. Her tics began to resurface—small head jerks, hand twitches, and occasional vocal tics that broke the silence. Though she was mute and unable to speak, her body often made involuntary noises, a soft “Tsk! Hm!” escaping her every so often.

When they arrived at the office, the weight of her anxiety pressed down on her chest. Her parents led her inside, where the quiet waiting room seemed too loud, too bright. Her head twitched again, her fingers flapping as her tics worsened.

Dr. Cassidy, the therapist, greeted them with a kind smile. “Hi, Billie. I understand you communicate through sign language. That’s perfectly fine here.”

Billie nodded, though her fingers fidgeted nervously in her lap. She wasn’t sure what to expect, and the uncertainty made her tics more pronounced. Her hands flapped again, her head jerking to the side with each tic.

Dr. Cassidy watched her carefully, her demeanor calm and reassuring. “We don’t have to talk about anything too difficult today, Billie. You can take your time.”

Billie signed slowly, I don’t want to be here.

“That’s okay,” Dr. Cassidy replied, her eyes focused on Billie’s hands. “But I’m glad you came. It’s a big step.”

The conversation moved slowly, with Dr. Cassidy asking gentle questions while Billie signed her responses. But the more they talked, the more Billie’s tics began to escalate. Every mention of dance, every reminder of what she had lost, seemed to stir something deep inside her. Her fingers flapped wildly, her head jerked violently, and the vocal tics became more frequent. “Tsk! Hm!” she repeated, each sound sharp in the stillness of the room.

I can’t dance anymore, she finally signed, her hands trembling as the words formed. Tears filled her eyes, her heart aching with the weight of her loss.

“I’m so sorry, Billie,” Dr. Cassidy said softly. “That must be incredibly hard for you.”

Billie nodded, her body overwhelmed with tics as she tried to process the emotions that were bubbling up inside her. Her hands moved faster, more erratically, until they were completely out of control. She felt the meltdown coming—her world spiraling into chaos.

Her head jerked again, harder this time, and her body rocked back and forth as she tried to hold back the tears. The sensory overload from the lights, the sound of her own tics, and the unbearable grief became too much. She clutched her head, her fingers flapping uncontrollably as she tried to contain the meltdown, but it was no use.

Minutes stretched on as Billie lost herself in the storm of her meltdown, her body betraying her at every turn. She wanted to scream, to cry out, but she couldn’t. Her voice was locked inside her, silent as always, while her body expressed everything she couldn’t say.

Dr. Cassidy remained calm, offering quiet reassurance as Billie struggled to regain control. But it was like trying to swim against a tide—impossible.

Eventually, the meltdown began to fade, leaving Billie utterly exhausted. Her hands fell limp in her lap, her body drained of all energy. With a trembling hand, she signed, I’m sorry.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Dr. Cassidy reassured her. “You’re going through a lot, Billie. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

Billie nodded, but she still felt broken, her mind and body disconnected from the world around her. As they left the office, her tics continued, small jerks of her head and flapping hands. But as she sat in the back seat of the car, staring out the window, she couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that clung to her.

She signed to her mother, I don’t know what to do anymore.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently. “We’ll figure it out, Billie. One step at a time.”

But as Billie stared out into the fading daylight, her body still twitching with tics, she wasn’t sure if she believed that.